A Proposition
by Starcrossed Butcher
Summary: Years after Monsters, Inc., Sulley is comfortably busy running the company. However, since he and Mike changed the energy game, jealous eyes have fallen on MI. When someone from Sulley's past gets involved, secrets are uncovered and flames, old and new, are kindled. Can he hold onto the Company and, more importantly, his friends? Sulley/Randall, past Sulley/Johnny, Johnny/Randall.
1. The Overture

Sulley's tie is red, today, red with festive rainbow confetti printed all over the silk. He isn't working the floor, today, but he _is_ there supervising the diligent monsters as they slip into and out of doors, collecting Laughter from human children-mostly in southeastern Asia, this shift. Amid the busy, shuffling feet, the dull roar of passing chatter, and the dinging of filled Laugh tanks, children's voices bubble out, surplus energy that leaks from the canisters themselves. Sulley, watching his monsters work, even now, years and years after the Waternoose scandal and the subsequent shift in company leadership, still feels his chest swell ever so slightly with pride.

He's shaken from Supervisor mode when a brassy voice calls out, "Sulley!" and turns to see a fleshy, green orb with eyeball, tiny horns, and waving limbs steps onto the Laugh floor. A fleshy, green orb Sulley himself knows all too well. "Lunch, right?"

Crap, Sulley forgot. "Sorry, Mike," he groans, slapping a great fuzzy paw to his suddenly sheepish face. "I meant to tell you I'd have to cancel, but I came in early to inspect the tank bay, and I had to reschedule a meeting with the board-"

"Not another word, brother," Mike replies, both hands held up reassuringly. "You've got a lot on your plate, so, I understand." The little green monster stops before his friend and leans to look past him at the throng of working men and women with an approving whistle. "After this morning's training session, honestly, I'm glad. It gives me another heavenly lunch hour to spend with Celia." He rocks back to look at Sulley and reaches way, way up there to pat him on the shoulder.

"Great, Mike," Sulley chortles, returning the glance with that winning Sullivan smile. He turns away, then, from both Mike and the floor to pore over a thick stack of notes on his clipboards, the sounds of the crowd, the children, and the canisters swimming around him without breaking his sudden change of concentration. "The annual company banquet and Mary Gibbs both thank you."

Mike grins knowingly and nudges Sulley in the ribs. He chides, "So, you still haven't gotten Boo a birthday present, yet?"

Another groan. "She'll be thirteen, Mike: officially older than any girl I have any practical gift-giving experience with, human or monster."

"Sulley, it's you," Mike dismisses, rolling his eye dramatically. "You'll get her something, she'll love it, you'll both have fun. Just like every year." He catches sight of the Laugh floor clock and snaps his fingers. "Five 'til. Gonna drop by the front office and pick up the wifey-" He sighs. "-So, I'll see you after work."

Sulley looks at the clock to confirm, then, nods. "Seeya." He flips his notes closed (banquet logistics, speeches, entertainment, etc., will wait until after lunch) and announces the shut down of the Laugh floor for lunch, which is met with a chorus of acknowledgment from the workers.

For lunch, Sulley acquires a sandwich from the in-house deli and, in the interest of quadruple checking some shipping figures and brainstorming gift ideas for Mary, heads for his office. It's where he heads, but instead, he runs into Randall. Literally. The large, blue monster, mid-sandwich-bite, collides with the smaller, purpler lizard, sending both _plus_ Sulley's clipboard and lunch as well as the Laugh tank cart Randall had been pushing toppling to the floor. Despite the cacophonous metallic crash, Sulley manages to keep the cart from spilling most of its contents onto the ground, and Randall saves Sulley's clipboard, but the sandwich lands with an undignified thump on the gaggle of energy canisters.

"When are you ever going to learn to watch where those giant feet of yours are going, Sullivan?" Randall spits, scrambling out of the tangle of monsters and brushing himself off. "I just finished cleaning these tanks."

Sulley rights the cart fully before climbing to his feet. "Good," he replies, reaching for his lunch, "Means my sandwich is gonna be just fine."

Randall scowls and replies, "I've only got a day and a half of this humilitation left, Sullivan. And I won't be sorry to see you eat your words when I take over the Scream Team and blow your so-called legend to tiny pieces."

"Listen," Sulley says, taking another bite of the sandwich once again in his hand and continuing with his mouth full, "Your pride in a redundant system aside, you still have a day and a half of working your way back into Monsters, Inc., the way Mike and I did, so, I would hate for anything to mess up your prospects when you're so close." Sulley swallows and grins at Randall smugly but without venom. Randall's been redeeming his previous actions for a few years, now, and the enmity between them, though initially roaring on in full force, has abated significantly.

Randall responds appropriately with a roll of his eyes, shoving the clipboard in his lower pair of hands at Sulley, then, pulling the cart out of any major walkway. "So. It's that time of year, again, right?" he says, much more quietly. "How's the Kid been?"

"Mary's been great, Randall." Sulley nods. "Y'know, if you want to come with me on her birthday visit, I'm sure reconciling wouldn't be too much work. It's been years."

"Nah," Randall mutters, looking squarely at a vastly interesting tile beside one of his feet. "Thanks, though. I'll probably just... send more cupcakes."

Again, Sulley nods. "She does love them." Randall nods, this time, looking painfully uncomfortable. Sulley, then, decides not to make him suffer. "Well, listen, I'm working through lunch, so, I've got to get going. Great job, so far."

"Whatever, Sullivan," Randall says too quickly, returning to his Laugh tanks and pulling the cart out to move, also too quickly. So, he gets it.

Sulley tosses him a pseudo salute and a "Seeya."

And Randall returns, "Yeah. Bye." A pause. Then, quietly, "Thanks."

Sulley beams all the way back to his office.

His sandwich is finished before he steps through the door, leaving him free to toss the wrapper through the trashketball basket and collapse with a sigh onto his huge, comfy office chair. Every time, the first couple of minutes of Sulley returning to his chair, his _throne_, the spotted beast always takes for himself to sink in, soak up the cushiony comfort. He considers the purchase of this chair the single best business decision that ever he's made, which makes wallowing in its glory even sweeter. But as usual, he's also quick to get to work.

He drops his clipboard onto the large, dark mahogany desk and looks over a couple of shipping bullets before reaching for the phone. He had some questions about some of the overseas transport-a hard job _that_ must be, Sulley thinks-but the shipping company has always been easy to work with, the past few years he's been using them. Of course, when the phone rings just before he's touched it, Sulley jumps, briefly, but recovers and picks up, putting the ear piece to his head.

"Crystal?"

"Mr. Sullivan," a soft, sweet voice replies, "There's a Mr. Chester Alexander calling representing Fear Co.?"

Chet? From MU? Sulley chuckles, "Well, that's a surprise. Put him through."

The monstress Crystal confirms, then, the line dies for a moment while she transfers the call.

When the line opens back up, Sulley announces, "James P. Sullivan speaking."

A voice very different from the one Sulley expects replies, "Mr. Sullivan," with no lisp, certainly none of the spazzing, and an octave below the Chet Sulley knew. "This is Chester Alexander, and I'm calling on behalf of Fear Co. CEO John Worthington, III."

Sulley has some small difficulty not guffawing at the ironic change in his old Frat brother's demeanor, but eventually queries, "It's been a long, long time, Chet. How are you and Johnny?"

Chet's side is quiet for some time before he replies with no change in delivery, "Yeah, Sullivan, hey. We're good, but this is about business." Distance from familiarity, Sulley notes. He is serious. "Fear Co. would like to meet with you."

"All right," Sulley concedes, "Sure thing. Regarding?"

Chet sighs audibly. "Mr. Worthington would prefer all details be discussed in person. Sorry."

Sulley grunts in acceptance. "All right, then. When would, ah, Mr. Worthington like to meet?"

"Are you available this afternoon?"

Sulley confirms, and then, it's set. Johnny will be paying him a visit in a few hours. He hangs up and leans back in his chair, staring pensively at his high ceiling. "What are you up to, now, Johnny?"

It's a few moments before he notices that his door-which he almost always keeps shut tight-is ajar. He almost chalks it up to uncharacteristic negligence until he catches sight of the cart wrangler hardhat floating in the doorway, at which point he coughs out, surprised, "Randall?"

The purple monster reveals himself, standing rigidly and clutching the doorknob, white-knuckled. He wears an expression part surprise, part confusion, two parts outrage. "Johnny? You're inviting him here?" The words have a tiny bit of trouble working out smoothly, given the slight trembling in their speaker.

Sulley notices, but before he can answer, much less ask why the reaction, Randall scurries away. Instead, the big blue monster scratches awkwardly behind a single horn. "Strange."


	2. A Proposition

Sulley's tie is a royal blue, now; it stands out against his fur and, Sulley likes to think, lends him a sleek, businessy look. It's his favorite back-up tie, one of some fifteen he has tucked away in his desk for sudden meetings, emergencies, whatnot. Mike's tendency to overprepare may have begun to rub off on Sulley, but in cases like this, he can't complain.

Sulley hangs up his phone for what he hopes is the last time this long, long day after an intense conference call with three of the organizers helping manage the annual Monsters, Incorporated, company banquet: the decision of blue table cloths over white was still in question, but Sulley remained firm on his position of "Whatever." He's honestly kind of relieved, as the call gave him a little time to switch out his tie before his old-could he really say "Friend"?-arrived. It's not a moment too soon, either. Crystal rings in to announce a Mr. Worthington there to see him, and Sulley gives the word to bring him in.

He doesn't know what to expect, and the apprehension that entails starts to sink in. It's been so long, he's changed so much-has Johnny changed? What will he think of his ex-frat-brother, his-? What's he even want to talk about? But he doesn't have long to wonder. There's a knock, Crystal opens the door, and in strides Johnny Worthington, who turns and thanks Crystal as she closes the door behind him. Then, he snaps his gaze onto Sulley.

Sulley feels a tightening in his chest. Johnny has aged, Sulley notes, taking in his appearance, but in such ways... The lavender of his fur is now highlighted with silver, his shoulders seem impossibly broader, filling his blazer with musculature to match (more defined than Sulley can remember from college). And that lopsided, underbitten, cocky grin that gave him the nickname, The Jaw, has grown offset by years of... experience. Whatever Sulley had expected, Johnny has exceeded.

The purple monster approaches Sulley's desk extending a large hand, and Sulley stands and takes it, both monsters shaking firmly.

"Well, well, well," Johnny says, and Sulley feels the rumble of his voice in his gut, "James P. Sullivan, CEO of Monsters, Inc." He drops the handshake. "Well, no one can say you didn't deserve it."

Sulley nods, then, gestures to a chair for Johnny to sit, then, does so himself. "I worked hard, Johnny, and you must have, too."

Johnny laughs, hearty and full of the certainty Sulley remembered him having. "Maybe, but our particular talents certainly didn't hurt." He leans back, arms spread wide and legs crossing.

"Fair enough," Sulley replies, following suit, "But Fear Co. are no slouches. Back in the Waternoose days, we had a hell of a time competing with you, you know."

There's a moment of silence from Johnny, but then, he sniffs and, for the first time, breaks eye contact. "Yes, back in those days, but now, I must say, you've been soundly trouncing us, Sulley."

"And that's what this is about," Sulley ventures, "Right?" It's a safe guess, one he'd made early on.

"Monsters, Incorporated, has exhibited an explosion in output at a factor of nine hundred percent," Johnny states, cold, profession, and a appropriately chilling look leveling at Sulley, "Owing to, oh, how did you say it in the interviews... 'Significant advances in technology'?"

Sulley bites his lip. He'd realized that the boom in their market volume wouldn't go unnoticed for forever, but this was still the first time he'd actually had to address it.

Sulley is tensing, and Johnny can see it, but he shakes his head and begins "reassuring," "Now, now, I'm sure nothing underhanded is going on, Sulley. I'm just here with, say, a friendly proposition." His legs uncross and he leans forward. "Fear Co. has always adhered to a commitment to keeping competitive. We'd like to ask you to share this advancing technology with us." He breaks out that damned smile, again, somehow smug, cocksure, and Sulley can feel that tightness from earlier threatening to return to his chest. "Of course," Johnny continues, "We're more than happy to negotiate a price."

Sulley doesn't respond immediately, and instead studies Johnny for a moment. Fear Co., Sulley considers, is the closest competitor Monsters, Inc., has had for as long as anyone can remember. Cluing them in on Laugh energy could tip the scales in their favor, losing MI its current foothold in the market. On the other hand, securing such a deal could boost revenue considerably, and knowing the other monster's pride, Sulley knows Johnny wouldn't be here if he wasn't desperate. Probably why he had approached them like this, now. Not to mention, as he'd so subtly threatened, someone could always cry, "Audit!" and enough would be disclosed anyway.

"Thanks for coming down, Johnny," Sulley chuckles, rising from his seat. "I think that's a reasonable proposal, but of course, the Board will have to be briefed, and legal is going to be handling any actual agreements with your people-"

Johnny rises to match, slowly, horns looming over Sulley impressively, and agrees, "Of course, Sulley, of course. I wanted to come down in person, though; test the waters, face to face." Again, he proffers his hand and it's shaken. "We'll always be able to hammer out details, get our people talking, all of that, later."

Sulley nods and moves toward the door. "Yeah, let's see how it turns out." When he twists the doorknob in hand, another one, larger than his own but gentle, stops him.

Johnny is looking at Sulley, now, gazing deeply into his eyes and, just maybe, back through the years to their days at University. His grin is gone, now, and he says, "That's not the only reason I came," which makes Sulley feel the urge to swallow hard. "It... was good seeing you, Big Blue, and..." Johnny takes a deep breath. "If you're free tomorrow evening, I'd love it if you'd meet me at this excellent bistro on Drakul Boulevard." The grin returns. "No work talk, promise."

Something warm and slimy in Sulley begins squirming, distracting him until he realizes that he's begun to nod. "Uh, yeah, definitely. I'd love to catch up."

Johnny chuckles. "Catch up. Yes, all right. I'll see you at eight, then." He opens the door and lets himself out.

"Sure. It was good seeing you, too, Johnny." Sulley shuts the door behind him and breathes deeply for a few long moments. Of course, he should've seen this coming; Johnny had always had this effect on him. Biggest reason Sulley had been so eager to join the RWRs, that magnetism Johnny just exuded... But he wasn't going to let it affect his business savvy (however slipshod). He could keep professionalism separate from this-would it be a date? Ah, whatever. He'd sort through labels later.

Sulley returns to his desk to switch out ties once more, then, heads back onto the Laugh floor to finish out the day. Or would have headed back onto the floor, but he runs into Randall. Figuratively, this time.

Randall seems anxious as he joins Sulley's walk to ask, "So, how'd it go? Johnny?"

"Couldn't you just have eavesdropped?" Sulley deflected gently, moving forward with purpose. "I mean, you can turn invisible, can't you?"

That isn't an acceptable answer for the smaller guy who growls out, "Spill, Sullivan. What happened?"

Randall is trembling, again, and they both stop walking. Sulley makes the decision. "Fear Co. wants in on Laugh."

Randall gapes at Sulley in the most underwhelmed way. "That's-that's it? Alternative energy? Does he even know what he's asking for, or...?"

"Not exactly," Sulley says, shrugging and continuing walking toward the humming HR department. "They know we're doing something different, but not what. They just want a piece of the pie. I dunno, I think a partnership might be mutually beneficial, but I'll have to run it past the powers that be."

Randall seems... mollified? Relieved? He says, following Sulley, "Well, when it comes to business, Worthington is pretty reliable. As long as it's nothing personal."

Sulley chuckles, "Well, I doubt he'll pull another Midgames Mixer, but he did invite me to dinner-"

"What?!" Randall practically shrieks, stopping dead in the entrance to HR. "He did _what_?"

Sulley doesn't answer immediately, and in the space between their conversation, he catches sight of Mike-who must have finished the afternoon session with the new trainees-leaning onto Celia's desk. And in that brief quiet, he can hear Celia chatting with the closest neighbor to her Head of HR desk. Yes, he can just make out, "Johnny Worthington came to see Sulley? Didn't they date back in college?"

Randall hears it, too, and he whips around, then, storms away. Sulley looks after him but doesn't move to follow, as nervously, he instead looks to gauge Mike's reaction.

As he suspects, it's not a great one. The little green monster's eye widens more than it has any right to, and then, he catches sight of Sulley at the doors. Considering his size, the rage that boils up over his entire body still manages to strike fear into Sulley's heart, and he wisely exits the situation.

When he reaches the Laugh floor, there are hushed conversations booming from it, but as soon as he enters, they all cease, and their speakers all turn to look at him. Christ, Sulley thinks, Does everyone know?

He tosses out a "Keep doing a great job, everyone," with a big smile, then, ducks back out, taking the long way through the easily labyrinthine corridors to his office to avoid Mike. Once there, immediately, his phone rings.

When he picks up with wary eyes to the door, Crystal is on the other end: "The Investors are holding an emergency meeting regarding Fear Co.? They want you in immediately, Mr. Sullivan."

Sulley groans and drops the earpiece to the cradle with a clatter, then, reaches into his desk for another tie. This long day, it seems, is only going to get longer.


	3. Some Consideration

Sulley's tie, black, feels three inches too tight around the lump in his throat. This will be, maybe, the fifth time Sulley has met with the Monsters, Inc., shareholders, and it's certainly the first time any sort of "emergency" is involved. Despite this, Sulley knows he must maintain composure, which is of course, ruined the instant he steps out of his office, where Mike Wazowski stands glowering at him from just below waist level.

The surprise causes Sulley to flinch, but a glance at a nearby clock tells him he doesn't have time for reaction. He draws himself up and marches past his clearly annoyed best friend muttering, "We can talk later, Mike."

"Oh," Mike replies, sardonically lighthearted and off-hand, "Later. Yeah. Sure." He then turns on his feel and falls into step beside the larger monster as he rushes through corridor after twisting corridor. He continues, "I mean, you haven't mentioned this," volume rising steadily, "For nearly twenty years!" until he's shrieking, "Why _not_ put it off until, hey! _Later_!"

Sulley shakes his head, "I'm sorry, but I just don't have the time for this conversation, right now."

The green monster stops in his tracks, throwing both hands as high as they'll go. "What could be so important that you can't have a conversation this big with your best friend?"

"Shareholder meeting," Sulley calls over his shoulder, "In approximately five minutes ago," and hurries on.

"Oh," Mike says, mostly to himself, then, cups a hand beside his mouth to call back, "Fine, we can talk later!" just as Sulley rounds a corner.

Sulley spends the rest of the trek avoiding the awkward looks of assorted gossipers and frantically discerning the angle the investors might be coming from. He accomplishes neither with much success. Sooner than he expects, he's standing before the door of the designated conference room (the big one) and accepting from Crystal the brief file he asked her to prepare and have ready here. He checks through the contents-maybe he's stalling-but quickly swallows his nerves. Nothing for it but to face the music, so, steeling himself, he twists the doorknob and charges in.

He greets the wall of ten or eleven other monsters, "Good afternoon, gentlemen, Ms. Holbrook," then, takes a seat at one end of the long table that said wall is wrapped around. The room returns a few nondescript murmurs, Sulley's claws click dully on the folder when he places it before him with both his paws on top, but the suddenly stuffy room is otherwise soundless until he pipes up. "So, I guess this is about-"

"You had a meeting, today?" a Mr. Erek Knight interjects with a bark. "A meeting with Mr. Worthington of Fear Co.?" Sulley can help but notice (silently) how very not scary he is compared to his older brother, his college professor from back in the day.

"It wasn't an actual meeting, per se," Sulley explains, "He was just-"

"So you _did_ discuss a merger without our authority?" accuses Dr. Harold Williams.

"No, no," Sulley sputters, backing away defensively from the conference table. "No one said anything about a-"

Across the table from Dr. Williams, one Mr. Hargreaves replies, "Well, I wouldn't be opposed to a merger with _Fear Co_."

Another voice, Sulley can't tell from which of the three or four proxies present, agrees: "Our market presence would at least double, if we integrated-"

"Fear Co." Sulley tries, "Isn't seeking-"

Mr. Knight scoffs, "Yes, and I'm sure antitrust legislation would look real favorably on us, then."

Ms. Holbrook adds, "Besides, if MI subsumes Fear Co., anyone with shares in both will lose value on both fronts."

And there, a buzz of argument breaks out, words like "Shortsighted" and "Insider trading" being slung around the conference room, all the while Sulley trying ineffectually to stop the fighting-ineffectual until he slams both hands against the table and roars, "Enough!"

Hush falls over the room and every eye falls onto the blue beast standing, now, with shoulders squared and hackles subtly raised.

He continues, after that pause, "Listen. You, the investors of Monsters, Incorporated, have put a lot of money and time into this company, but you've also invested a lot of faith in me and my ability to run it." He snorts and slumps back down in his chair, which groans with the strain. "So, trust you made the right decision, all right?"

A different voice speaks up, now, belonging to one Mr. Scott Squibbles. "Sulley, our faith in you isn't faltering." Sulley straightens up, a little taken aback as Squishy speaks. "Rumors of Fear Co. making their move have been getting around since you introduced Laughter in the first place."

Sulley furrows his brow, leaning over his forearms on the table, then, mumbles, "Then-"

Squishy nods. "We're worried they're using an old flame as a blind spot. A weak spot."

Sulley sighs, then, stands again. "Well, I'll handle that possibility if and when it appears." He moves to the front of the conference room to address all present. "For now, the only reason Mr. Worthington met with me, today, was to make overtures to Fear's hopeful acquisition of some of our technology."

Mostly, the room remains impassive in reaction, but Sulley hears some distinct exhalations, some relieved, some disappointed. He has a good idea of the mood of the room, now, but as voices begin to sound in deliberation, all he can do is execute their final decision like the monster they hope he is.

After several hours of back and forth, the meeting adjourns and cranky monsters book it out of the room. That decision is essentially to decide later. To watch and wait for a clearer move. And Sulley can't blame them. He trudges back through factory and office block alike, noting the relative emptiness of room after room that accompanies the night shift. He slips into his own office and into his bliss-inducing chair. Johnny, he thinks, has put them all in a precarious position.

Which gives Sulley an idea. He picks up his phone, scrolls back through the caller ID, and puts the call through. "Hey, Johnny? Yeah. I've had a hell of a day." His lips and voice kick up in excitement. "How about dinner tonight, instead?" What an idea.

With plans made and the evening to look forward to, he still kicks himself, mentally, for deciding to walk to work, today, but sets his jaw and heads out. Right into rain. It's only a mild drizzle, but with the length of the walk, no umbrella, and how much fur Sulley bears, he arrives at his apartment drenched.

He drips rainwater along the interior carpet up a couple of flights of stairs all the way to his door, unlocks and flings open the door. The lights flick on as soon as he enters, and Mike sits in the comfy chair, bemused expression aimed directly at the door. Right. Sulley still has to have this talk.

"So, " Mike begins, to which Sulley responds by dashing into the bathroom and locks the door behind him. "Oh, no, you don't," Mike shouts, banging once on the door. From beyond that door, he hears a blow dryer power on. It only makes him shout louder, "I knew you weren't much of a ladies man, but you don't think _maybe_ you could have told me it was because you're into _men_?"

Sulley responds over the roar of the fur dryer, "I can't hear you, Mike, but if I could, that's really not how it works."

Mike growls, then, cries out, "I don't care how it works! You should have told me!" He stomps away from the door as his tirade plays on. "At the very least, you might have mentioned that you had a _thing_ with the biggest toolbag ever to come out of Monsters University and, might I remind you, a _big_ part of the reason we got kicked out!"

The dryer turns off and Sulley steps out of the bathroom with a sigh. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Johnny and me, but I didn't think unloading my romantic life on you was all that important." A briefcase makes a conspicuous thump as it's thrown into Sulley's bedroom, and the blue monster himself begins to smooth down the mass of fluff his fur has become by hand. "Besides, clearly, everyone else knew. I'm surprised you hadn't heard 'til now."

Mike snorts incredulously. "'Not important'? Sulley, everyone at the company is in a panic. And me, I was blindsided. What the hell am I supposed to think of you keeping _that_ big a secret from me, in light of this shady dealing with the secret itself, now?" Again, his hands are thrown into the air. "Much less, what I'm supposed to tell everyone who comes to me asking me what my best friend is up to!"

Sulley rolls his eyes, tromping through the apartment to check his teeth in the bathroom mirror. "It was never really a secret, Mikey, and it certainly isn't now." He begins, now, to groom his horns. "And you know I'm not up to anything."

"Aren't you?" Mike asks, squinting at Sulley as he bustles about, primping. "Got a date, tonight, Sulley? How long's it been since that's happened? Is it just a coincidence that you're hitting the singles market the same day that Johnny 'The Tool' Worthington comes waltzing into your life?" Mike laughs humorlessly. "You know, he's married, right? Carrie and him tied the knot in some sort of House of Cards Power Couple move."

Sulley stops his ministrations, looking bewildered at Mike. "What? I-no, he asked _me_. I accepted because I can keep my social life and professional life separate." He grumbles and returns to readying himself. "As for the company, it's not my problem that there was a gossip pandemic over my speaking to an old friend for a few minutes." A huff. "I mean, I don't see you biting Celia's head off for-" And as soon as the words have left his mouth, he knows that's the one button he shouldn't have pressed. He turns to see Mike, teeth bared and gritted in angry jags across his face. "Spreading it?"

"Get out." Mike mutters the command, and Sulley thinks he can see the blood vessels start to burst in his eye. Sulley doesn't react quickly enough for Mike's liking, and the little green monster bellows, "Get out, now, Sullivan!" And Sulley, for once, grows frightened of his friend. The difference in size, Mike looks primed for the kill. So, Sulley gets to moving toward the door. "Get out! How dare you talk about my _wife_ that way! Get out! Get out! Get out!" Sulley slips out the door just as something massive, shiny, and less likely to shatter than his own skull hits the wall just beside his head.


	4. Tête-à-tête

**AN: **Long chapter. And the reason, as you may have noticed, for the bump in the rating. Thank you so much to all who have commented. I hope this story continues to satisfy.

* * *

Sulley's tie lies forgotten in his bedroom in the apartment, but as he hears Mike going ballistic on the other side of the door, he decides it's not necessary for this meeting with Johnny. Sulley sighs. Using Celia in an argument is off limits. This is not just an unspoken rule but an unwritten law. How did he make that slip? He puts a hand against the door, wishing he could go in and apologize, but it would probably just make it worse, right now. Sulley guesses he'll just... sleep at the office, tonight.

And anyway, he has a prior engagement. So, he steps away from his apartment and out of the building, this time prepared with umbrella and watch. The watch, of course, lets him know he's going to be more than a few minutes late, at this point.

Johnny is finishing off his second glass of wine and shooing away the server ("He'll be here.") before Sulley arrives, panting ever so gently. The latter folds his umbrella as he steps under the sunset-lighting awning, and Johnny can only smile at seeing him diverging from the light foot traffic almost hiding him.

"I hope you didn't have trouble getting here," he says. "My entire evening was free, I could've picked you up, if there was-"

Sulley doesn't respond, nor does he meet Johnny's gaze; he simply takes the seat across from him and looks intently down at the table. Johnny isn't going to indicate that he noticed one of the chair legs bending under Sulley; he's been there, he knows that life. But Sulley's silence, like much of him, is too big to ignore.

Johnny tries, again. "Wine?" he asks, pulling the unused glass across the table toward himself and beginning to fill it. "It's not a phenomenal Pinot Noir, but it's drinkable."

Sulley finally looks up, but it's not the tender, nostalgic look that Johnny was certain was the least he'd get.

Johnny starts to get the feeling he knows where this is going, but as a last-ditch effort, he continues, talking far too fast, now, "Oh, and don't worry about moving up the plans, I wanted to ask you here tonight, but I didn't want to seem too eag-"

Sulley asks, "Are you married?" voice soft but clearly accusing.

Johnny begins to refill his own glass and takes his own turn at avoiding eyes. "Come, now, Sulley, you must have known. Someone as publically visible as me, I couldn't not be an ideal, business-savvy but family oriented monster." He brings the glass to his lips and resumes drinking. "Married, yes. With children, both at the University."

Sulley adopts an expression as mortified as one of his former marks. "Johnny, I know you're capable of many things, but this is pretty unambiguously a date. How could you-"

"Stop," Johnny says, glass empty, the purple monster staring at the stem between his fingers. "Sulley, just... Stop." He puts the glass down and sets both his elbows on the table, fingers interlacing in somewhat tight fists. "I don't think you realize my position, here."

Sulley cocks his head to one side. "What, head of your father's company, married to a great girl-"

Johnny shakes his head almost violently, which given the wine, he quickly decides is a bad idea. Head swimming, he sighs. "Forget the company, forget all that." He looks up, staring deep into Sulley, again, but visibly evoking a different response. "Sulley, when you left MU, I was a mess. My grades plummeted, I had to step down as president of the RWRs. The night you left me holding that trophy and your jacket-_your_ fucking jacket, Sulley..." He makes a sound that could be either a laugh or something else that could knot Sulley's throat to hell. "Anyway, I scraped by my last year, a super-senior, but eventually I got out. Married Carrie, we both started working." He swallows hard. "And every single step felt so... empty."

Sulley is speechless, for a moment, instead, reaching for the wine and sipping at it. "I never realized... You always seemed so aloof, so goddamned superior, I didn't think we ever really meant much to you."

There's that sound from Johnny, again. "No, you wouldn't have thought so. When you left, I tried replacing you so many ways. Randy Boggs, he was a doozy, but he'd always say you were 'Pretty Fucking Oblivious.' His words."

Sulley gaped, then, glanced up and down the still modestly-populated pedestrian arcade, as if someone were just about to jump out and yell, "Psyche!" But no one did. "You and Randall-"

"Yes," Johnny huffs with a hint of something that sounds like amusement. "He wasn't the best effigy to your distinguished presence, given the mechanical differences in our relationship, but if it was going to be anyone, he was a decent... consolation prize." Johnny goes for broke and grabs hold of the bottle of Pinot and brings it to his lips, taking a somewhat obscene draught from it.

Sulley is reeling, and it can't be from the wine. He stands, drops a few bills on the table, and mumbles, "I've got the bill, Johnny. It was good seeing you." A pause. Then, quietly. "Sorry."

Johnny doesn't even bother responding, instead, watching Sulley practically disappear into the night. He hunches down and eyes the wine bottle, weighing the pros and cons of finishing it here.

The rain worsens as Sulley walks the streets of Monstropolis, and his umbrella quickly becomes ill-suited to the task. His thoughts are a jumble. Johnny's and his relationship, he's always thought of it as just another thing he'd lost to Johnny's ego, something that he'd turned in with his RWR jacket. If he'd really done that much collateral damage over his sense of honor without even reaching out... Doesn't that make him just as self-centered as Johnny?

Sulley finds himself standing under the outcropping of the Monsters, Inc., front entrance staring at the monster he sees in the glass of the door. He decides to put the self-examination on hold. Tomorrow is Mary's birthday, and he needs to rest after this clusterfuck of a day.

He pushes on in. Heads for his office. And of course, runs into Randall.

"Sulley?" he asks, bringing him and his cart to a halt in the middle of a dimly lit, otherwise deserted hall. "What are you doing here?"

Sulley returns, "I could ask you the same thing." He shrugs. "Mike and I had a fight. Thought I'd let him... cool off, tonight."

"Ah, Trouble in Paradise?" Randall motions for Sulley as he resumes pushing his cart. "Walk with me. Last load before I head home." And Sulley does. And wouldn't he know, questions begin to bubble up. "I thought Wazowski would've moved out after the nuptials."

"He and Celia have a place outside the city," Sulley explains, "But since they work during the week, they maintain their old places, too. Hey, listen..." Sulley stops Randall with a hand on his shoulder. "Johnny and I talked, earlier. He said some stuff about you two having something after I'd left. Is that why you freaked out when you found out he was coming?"

Randall halts the cart yet again, but this time, sighs gently. "That was part of it, yeah." He turns and looks up at Sulley, leaning on two elbows against the cart. "What all did he say about it?"

Sulley frowns and follows suite with the leaning, but against the wall of the corridor, instead. He answers, "Not much. Just that there was more fall out over my leaving school than I had thought. And you were a part of it. And that he never really got over us."

Randall laughs, but Sulley can't imagine what's funny. "That's quite an understatement, Sullivan." He shakes his head, and Sulley can't help but watch his fronds as they sway with the motion. "Johnny was ruined by the time we got together. He wouldn't acknowledge it, at first, but anyone who knew him well enough to see past the horns and the bravado knew that much."

Sulley swallows audibly. "And you weren't the first? After me, I mean?"

Another laugh. "No. But I was probably the longest. And isn't that the worst crime of all?" A sigh. "I wasn't you, but Johnny needed someone. It might have hurt a little, but hell, I liked being needed, even knowing that I wasn't his first pick. Honestly, he was my door number two, too-a much closer second, but hey, that was just one more thing we had in common, even if he didn't realize."

Sulley straightens up, eyes wide in the low light. "What do you mean?"

Randall withdraws, Sulley can see, as though he's said to much, but he only replies, "You... really are pretty fucking oblivious. Both of you were."

"You can't mean-"

"I can, Sullivan." Randall whips around and continues pushing his cart towards its destination. "But that's not your problem. It's all in the past."

It all makes sense, now, everything clicks. Sulley acts before his thoughts catch up to him. He grabbs hold of the cart, spins Randall around by the shoulder and, in a flash, is hunched over him, pressing his lips to the lizard's. Randall, for his part, makes some small show of resistance, at first, but quickly gives into the kiss. Large, fur-covered hands pull the purple monster's slight body close to the bigger, bluer wall of body mass, and both parties let out a gentle moan.

Sulley breaks for air first, but when he does, Randall pants just as hard. Sulley grins at him and Randall might as well be color shifting, for the color that suddenly appears in his cheeks.

"My office?" the larger male suggests, and the smaller only nods assent. Sulley scoops Randall into his arms and carries him away through the halls, which causes Randall some distress, but he's distracted from it when Sulley resumes kissing the breath out of him.

It takes them some time to get there (the distraction that is Randall's mouth causes Sulley to take a wrong turn or three), but once they do, Sulley lets his passenger down, fumbles with the doorknob, and eventually, allows them both to scramble through the door.

Once inside, Sulley's hands find Randall's body, again, and they hold him against the large desk while Sulley's lips roam along Randall's neck and down his chest. This allowing Sulley time to sink to his knees and put he and Randall on a more eye-to-eye level while still allowing both bodies to press against one another, Sulley's warm, solid, and inviting, and Randall's squirming against it.

Both become distinctly aware of a firm indicator of Sulley's arousal being pressed between them, and Randall snakes a hand downward to touch the blue beast. Sulley groans, growing harder in Randall's hand, and Randall lets out a pleased sigh that can only be expressing how long he's wanted to do that.

Sulley's hips lurch forward, grinding against Randall's abdomen, and with urgency, words are exchanged:

"I need to-"

"Yeah, just-"

"Do you need me to-"

"No, go ahead an-"

Randall's legs settle around Sulley's hips, and Sulley lines his swollen member up with the solitary entrance that must comprise Randall's sex, and then, in a single surge of motion, Sulley slides inside. The joining of their bodies bathes him in heat and pressure and moistness (Sulley had worried for a moment over anatomy and preparation, but he finds Randall's confidence justified).

Randall, with no more than a squeaking gasp and, admittedly, a tear or two down his cheek, settles around Sulley's considerable girth, the warmth filling him deliciously. His hands, all eight, grasp Sulley by limb or fur and pull him, it seems, deeper, as if he isn't getting enough.

When Sulley is fully sheathed in the smaller monster, he cups a single hand around Randall's cheek, using a thumb to wipe a way a lingering wet streak, then, pulls Randall's mouth, open in a now soundless O of pleasure, to his own. His tongue invades the purple reptile's maw, it dances between dangerous teeth, and meets Randall's, which responds, first, with a tentative touch, then, a fierce push, rolling and tangling with the other.

They stay like this for a while, Randall spread open on Sulley's malehood, each exploring the other's mouths with a hunger, both consuming one another and each second.

Randall is the next to move. With his back against the desk and his lower hands anchored around Sulley's pelvis, the lizard rocks his hips back, drawing Sulley out of him, only to thrust back onto it, where it presses even deeper than before. Randall hisses in ecstasy.

Sulley gets the hint. His hips begin to gyrate, slow, deep strokes that make him shudder to restrain and make Randall tense and squeak, and with Randall making such sounds, Sulley can't help but be enamored. The slickness between Randalls lowest pair of legs encourages Sulley to breakup the tonsil hockey and build his speed, however, and soon, Sulley is thrusting into him with a driving tempo, knocking into the desk a lustful cadence that Randall matches eagerly in gasps and groans.

"Gods, Sulley," Randall pants, "Keep going," while practically thrashing below him.

And Sulley is happy to oblige, growling throatily, "You feel so good around me, Randall, so fucking good."

It isn't long before Randall's vocal display changes to a distinct keening, hips cocked as he rides Sulley with purpose now. "Right there, Sulley, ah, fuck, I'm getting close-"

"I'm here, I'm here," Sulley grunts in reply, shifting so that his weight is fully supported by his knees. "So close." Both of Sulley's hands take hold of Randall's hips as his fucking becomes frantic, both nearing the edge of total bliss.

Randall crushes his mouth against Sulley's, again, and finally, crashes into his release, his entire body clenching and pulsing, warm wetness flooding out of his hole, around Sulley's cock as he comes, and God, how he moans. It's a certain music to Sulley's ears and it brings him to completion as much as the orgasm wholly rocking Randall. He pushes into the hilt, a mountain of blue fur and tensed muscle as his sizeable member spasms inside of the smaller monster, seeding him in intense, hot bursts.

Randall trembles as both ride out their respective orgasms, practically squirms around the pole inside him, and hiccoughs a joyful laugh around Sulley's mouth as it nears its finish, "I have dreamed this for so long, Sullivan..."

Sulley, breaths deepening and chest heaving, his heart pounding loud enough that he hears, grins and watches Randall melt at the expression. He assures, "Well, if it's a dream, it's not over, yet." With one hand against Randall's lower back, one on his desk, and all of Randall's holding tight to him, Sulley stands, shakey from exertion and the onset of the afterglow, and still lodged inside his partner, staggers around the desk to his chair, where he sits reclined with his feet propped on the desk and Randall held tightly in his lap.

This leads to a lazy, somewhat sloppy making out, though neither can tell how long it lasts, as both, with Randall using Sulley's generous torso as a bed, succumb to exhaustion.


	5. The Consultant

**A/N:** Sorry for the ridiculous delay on this chapter. Life is hard. This chapter came like pulling teeth. But I'm back. I will continue to update as much as possible.

* * *

Sulley's ties lie scattered across his desk, and for the life of him, Sulley can't remember putting them there. It's the first thing that comes to mind when he cracks open his eyes to early morning sunlight filtering in through the halfhearted blinds on his considerable windows. He's leaned back in his chair, sprawled haphazardly, and majorly feeling the dry mouth that comes from sleeping maw-open. And he notices a little bit of dried drool at one corner of his lips.

Perched atop the mess of ties is a sticky-note with hasty words scrawled messily over its face: "Cupcakes will be here at 12:00 pm. Take them quick. -R." Right. Mary's birthday. Sulley can only smile at the post-script: "Also, you have way too many ties to store anything else in your desk. Like sticky-notes." The thought of Randall rummaging through his stuff to leave him a note gives Sulley a couple of warm fuzzies-on the inside, as opposed to the usual warmth and fuzz of his outsides.

He straightens up and stands, stretches those great, lanky arms of his out with a yawn, then, rubs his face. He's got a few hours until he heads into the human world, so, in the meantime, time to face the day.

He grabs the closest tie-purple, which Sulley finds far too appropriate-and heads out from his office. First order of business: run into Randall. Note notwithstanding, there are things they need to discuss. Namely, briefing Randall on the end of his probation and subsequent promotion to Lead Scarer. Officially, Sulley has today off, but he figures talking to Randall doesn't really count as work. Considering. Except he doesn't run into Randall.

Sulley checks the cart corral, but the supervisor, there, says Randall isn't due in until this afternoon. He checks each of the employee lounges, as each is equipped with a kitchenette, but there are no signs of baking in the air and certainly no sign of Randall. As Sulley walks back to his office wearing an expression of mild perplexion, he ponders, maybe he just went home to do the baking and whatever-Randall, he knows, lives outside the city, but it wouldn't be so bad a commute, he guesses. It's doable. Regardless, he steps into his office to grab a bag filled with bathing paraphernalia and, still perplexed-looking, slouches towards the men's locker room.

Sulley has visited the human world in an unprofessional context frequently through the years-specifically Mary. In that time, a clear protocol has been established. In the human world, opinions on smells are radically different, not to mention the problem of exposure with pink and blue fur winding up God knows where... The agreed-upon solution reached is this-a long, long shower and meticulous fur-grooming after. As such, Sulley enters the showers, tosses his bag to one side, turns one of the dozen or so heads to max, and steps under it. He's got his work cut out for him.

When he's showered, dried, and combed every inch of his pelt, Sulley returns to his office. Or he is returning to his office, when he runs into Randall right outside of it. Almost. As soon as the purple monster sees Sulley and realizes he's _been_ seen, he turns invisible and-Sulley can only imagine-skitters away. This, Sulley takes like a blow to the gut.

It's then that he realizes. Randall sneaked out on him. The morning after- Growling, Sulley storms into his own office and lets out a guttural, bellowed, "Fuck!" behind the closed door.

His entire body feels... tight. With agitation. Even throwing himself back into the chair of chairs, his precious throne, doesn't help. Not a minute of sitting and he draws himself up like a great, angry, blue mountain and begins to pace. Once again, he tells himself, he's managed to fuck something up out of the gate.

And that's when he notices the cupcakes. The rectangular pan sits on a broad, thick bolt of terry cloth, so, the contents are probably still hot, but they're laid square in the middle of his desk with a tag on top of the durable plastic lid with "To Mary" written on it in much better handwriting than Randall's earlier note. He checks his clock and finds he's already a few minutes late.

Sulley can feel something hot and acidic pooling in his chest, but with a herculean effort, he wills his impotent rage to dissipate. It will have to wait. He trudges to the tray of cupcakes, picks them up (by the metal wings, first, and burns his fingertips, so instead, he sets the pan on the fabric on one hand), and exits with them to the training room.

Thankfully, Mike won't be in, for this-he always shuts down training the days of Sulley's visits-because Sulley is quite certain he wouldn't be able to handle another confrontation with him well, right now.

The training room is deserted, as expected, when he enters and flips the low lights on, and Boo's file-kept separate and secret from other door records-is on the control console, also as expected. Reliable Mike. He takes the door card with his free hand and crosses the room to slip it through the reader. The door comes rattling down the rail, as expected, and settles itself into the dock. A button is pressed. A light comes on. And Sulley knocks.

The door opens to the sound of an excited giggle and creaks open to reveal a thirteen-year-old Mary Gibbs and her broad smile. As expected, it melts Sulley's heart to see.

The monster steps through the door way into Mary's room-no longer the haven of plastic, toddler-safe toys and crayon drawings, replaced, now, with computers and sound systems and posters of young human boys with spiky, black hair and wearing black paint around their eyes (he always thought that was a human female practice, but he hadn't studied the culture enough to comment). Sulley sets the tray of cupcakes on some spare patch of surface space and turns to sweep Mary up in a great hug.

Mary goes with a squeal of, "Kitty!" and flings her arms around Sulley's neck, threatening to choke him with her affections.

Sulley replies, "Boo," and lets her back down to look at her properly. She's grown tall and beautiful and-"Boo, what happened to your hair?"

Her eyes roll behind her dramatic fringe. "I put streaks in my bangs. Easier to explain the blue and pink stuff mom's probably going to find in my room." Her gaze goes to the tray on her writing desk, and she asks, "Are those from, er... Randall?" She carefully pulls the lid off and the room fills with the aroma of chocolate cake.

"Yeah," Sulley replies, "He sends his best." He takes a seat on Mary's bed and looks up at the barely-high-enough ceiling. "Mike, too."

"His best?" Mary pulls a cupcake from the tray-warm but only from the pan, not enough to melt the frosting-and hands it to Sulley, who takes it with a nod. She licks her own fingers, then, "He realizes I'm cool with him, right?" She takes a cupcake for herself and licks half the frosting off the top. "As many guilt-cupcakes as I've received, I think I forgave him a while back. It was over a decade ago. And he wasn't going to, like, hurt me, right? So."

Sulley isn't going to talk about Randall, right now, if he can avoid it. "So, how are things? How's school?"

And of course, Mary is onto him immediately. She fixes Sulley with a suspicious glance from over her cupcake as he pops all of his into his mouth, then, replies, "Things are pretty much things. School is school as usual. What about you? What's up? Something happen?"

Sulley is silent for a moment, then, tries, "You got me, me and Mike had a fight?" Mary seems unimpressed with a single cocked eyebrow. Sulley figures he isn't going to get out of this without giving her _something_. "Okay, look. Randall and I became actual sort of friends, recently, but there was a... hiccough." He sighs and sinks backward against Mary's wall. "I don't know what to think about it or him or anything." He sighs. "Mike and I _did_ have a fight, though. Something else."

His eyes have wandered away from Mary, but when they return to her, she's openly gaping at him from across the short width of her room, and their respective gazes lock. Mary finds her words: "You and Randall were fucking?"

Sulley winces. "I didn't say that." Then, he scowled. "And language."

Mary delivers another stunning eye-roll. "Let me guess. It meant more to you than to him?"

There's a beat where Sulley can do nothing but stare at Mary. When it passes, he only looks down and says, "I don't know. Maybe. I didn't think so."

"Maybe you should've, like, discussed particulars? Beforehand?"

"Probably." Another sigh. "I've probably screwed everything up." And then, he's squinting at Mary, shaking his head incredulously. "How am I getting romantic advice from a teenager?"

Mary, for her part, shrugs. "Internet. Anyway, you should talk." She hops onto the bed beside Sulley and gives him another squeeze. "I doubt you could permanently screw it up with someone, so, yeah."

Sulley nods and returns the embrace. "If he'll stick around long enough, sure." He chuckles. "Thanks, Boo."

Mary giggles in turn, then, straightens up. "So. Down to business. What'd you get me?"


End file.
